#talking about ghosts

[thelampisaflashlight]

I come from a family of very superstitious individuals, though I, myself, do not put much credence to the paranormal.

This isn't to say I doubt the experiences other people have had -with a few exceptions due to personal reasons- but I follow much the same logic as, say, Houdini or Ghost Files' Shane Madej, in that I need proof.

There's the old saying, "Seeing is believing" and have I seen things?

Yes.

Shockingly, yes.

And you might be saying, "Lamp, if you've seen something supernatural, something that you couldn't explain, then why don't you believe?"

It all comes back to the human imagination.

Now this isn't to say I think people are imagining things when they see ghosts and other otherworldly things.

However, there already exists several known phenomenon that can scientifically explain how or why we might be seeing them.

Pareidolia, for example, in which we find faces in objects, is a very normal quirk of how our brains are wired.

We are also more susceptible to seeing/hearing things when we are tired or stressed.

Our minds are wired to help us remain vigilant in situations where we might encounter danger, because while we might be perfectly safe, even imagined dangers can trigger a real fear response.

It's why when someone has a dream that someone did something mean to them, they might be angry/upset when they wake up.

But I digress.

So, what did I see?

Well, first things first, I think it's important to give you some context.

When I was ten years old, my mother passed away quite suddenly.

She had been sick for some time, but had hidden it well enough that by the time her symptoms were impossible to hide anymore, it was already too late to help her.

Without going into too much detail on how she died, I can tell you that it was incredibly traumatic for me.

So much so that I spent the ages of eleven to seventeen in therapy, and I still, to this day, have not wholly unpacked the entirety of that day with anyone.

The night after her passing, however, is when this event occurred.

Now, as I said a moment ago, the human imagination -the human mind- is a fantastic thing.

And when we are tired and stressed, as I was, we are perhaps more inclined to see things that aren't truly there.

My mother, for as long as I knew her, always sat at the same spot at our dining room table; In a well worn wooden chair in front of a chest that I never got to see the contents of -not an important detail, but a far gone curiosity now- and her sweater, a gray and pinkish-purply thing made of that yarn that always seems to go to fuzz, was draped over the back of it.

To my mother, one of the most important things to do when someone past, was to view the body in order to say goodbye.

When my paternal grandmother passed two years prior to my mother's own death, she'd taken my hand in her own and we stood by her bedside and said our goodbyes.

I did not get to say goodbye to my mother.

And I think, perhaps, that's why I saw what I did.

I had reached out, placing my hand on the back of the chair, and turned to look out at the window... and there was my mom.

Sitting in the chair beside me.

I need you to understand when I say this, it could not have been a person standing outside, and before anyone says, "Well, it could have been your own reflection staring back at you."

I do not look like my mother.

Or at least I didn't look like her back then.

I was a very pale, blond child, and my mother was a brunette, who, quite infamously, resembled Frida Kahlo.

In fact I've played a game with my siblings a number of times called "Mom or Frida Kahlo", the resemblance is that uncanny.

But what got to me the most was the expression on her face.

She was angry.

And it frightened me.

In that moment, I had felt real fear.

I was so taken aback I went to go find my father, and when I told him what happened, he just said, "That makes sense."

That makes sense.

I didn't tell him that she looked unhappy.

And, for a long time, I forgot about it.

But every so often the memory comes back to me.

I can write it off a million different ways.

Yet...

[hauntingyourself]

Are people with large beds not afraid of a ghost crawling in with them? I would be

[marypsue]

Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

[ghost-bxrd]

Headcanon that when Jason so much as says “ow..” on the comms the rest of the batfam immediately assume he must be dying.

[chloesimaginationthings]

Those were Vanessa's friends too in the FNAF movie

[bluegiragi]

i drew johnny "soap" mactavish as phreak (the original design) from overwatch.

bonus (just for fun):

[azulhood]

Danny was tired, like 'I feel it in my bones and soul' tired. And he didn't want sleep at home because there's only so many nights, he could spend lying awake making sure his heart was beating in case his parents checked on him.

Currently he was flying aimlessly not really taking in his surroundings, but he could neither sleep while flying or fly forever. Normally he'd sleep over at Sam or Tucker's, but the Mansons had made it clear that he wasn't welcome at their house anymore and Tucker was grounded. Both would sneak him in if he asked, but he didn't want them to get in trouble for him. Which leads him to decide between his two choices, sleeping in a graveyard, or sleeping in a forest.

The graveyard was a little crowded with all the ghosts that called it home but he could probably find a quiet spot to sleep. The forest had a great view of the stars but was filled with traps from both his parents and the GIW after tracking his ecto-signature. Both options weren't appealing, but he wasn't about to chance sleeping on the roof of his house again. There were too many ghost detecting guns attached to it now. Danny sighed, graveyard it was, at least the ecto from all the shades/ghosts would hide him well enough. Decision made, now all he had to do was make his way over there. But first, where the heck was he? Danny looked around at the unfamiliar grey sky and gargoyles littered around and realized he had no clue where he was. He must have flown too far away from Amity without noticing...Again. It was really becoming a bad habit. Danny stared down at the city's inhabitants that were going home or heading to nightshifts or whatever and dreaded the long flight back to his town. And maybe it was ghost instinct, or maybe it was just his exhaustion. But his brain suggested 'What if I just possess someone?' And to him that seemed like a perfectly logical train of thought. He wouldn't control their body or anything, just sleep in their skin...That did not make it sound better at all. Before he could think twice, someone left a general store, arms filled with stuff and somehow projecting an aura of safety. The two thoughts of 'They look comfy' and 'screw it' clashed together in his head as he made the very stupid decision of performing a swan drive right into the someone. "WHAT THE-" "Don't worry, I'll be gone by morning I just need to sleep" Danny cut off the persons freakout-he should really get their name at some point- he would have explained more but the sleep gods had already done their job. This left one very confused, scared, and freaked out Batkid.

[slater-baby]

Lieutenant Price who can’t keep his eyes off of you at the bar, cheeks red with heat and want that he can’t even begin to tame

Lieutenant Price who takes an extra shot of rum before shooting his shot

“This seat taken?”

“Depends,” you reply, looking over the clean-shaven man who stands before you, “You buying?”

Lieutenant Price who wrings his hands behind his back as he confidently asks you out, right up until you say ‘yes’

Lieutenant Price who tries his best to be a gentleman when he gets between the sheets.

Lieutenant Price who groans and grunts as he feeds his cock into your cunt, trying with every ounce of his will not to shove himself in up to the hilt before you’re stretched and ready

“Mm—god, darling,” he manages, shaking with the force it takes to hold himself back, “You’re so tight…god, I can fuckin’ see myself in your stomach…”

…

Captain Price who isn’t afraid to let his eyes linger on you when he takes u to the bar with his boys—likes it when you know that he’s always watching, that he’s always hungry

Captain Price who buys you an extra shot of rum before pulling you into his lap in the middle of the bar, feeding it to you while he blows cigar smoke out the side of his mouth

“C’mon, darling,” he drawls, “Drinks on me. Another one won’t hurt.”

Captain Price who brazenly slips his hands under the waistband of your pants right then and there, rasping a slow invitation back to his place while he pushes his fingers in and out of your slick folds

Captain Price who’s so far gone he can’t act like a gentleman anymore

Captain Price who hustles you into the bar’s bathroom and hastily locks the door, before he all but rips his belt out of his belt loops

Captain Price who holds you down against the bathroom countertop. He bullies his aching dick into your swollen pussy, yanking you by the hair just to keep you in place underneath him

“Sit still, love,” he spanks you, grabbing a harsh handful of your ass right after, “Behave, and I might just let you lick me clean when this is all over.”

[heavenbarnes]

this has actually driven me insane, thank you so much @abcdbleh 🫶🏼

as difficult as it was to believe, your older bf!simon was only human after all.

he was only a man.

and he wasn’t a young man- well, as young as he used to be. he moved a little slower and his back ached if he sat too long and half the music on the radio pissed him off.

he could keep up with the youngest of ‘em, he could probably still run rings around them. somehow, he managed to keep up with you- his pretty young thing.

it was you that was begging “no more!” when you’d already cum five times and he’s gearing you up for the next.

it was you that was complaining your thighs were sore cause you’d been riding him the better part of an hour, he’d cum twice and was expecting another before calling mercy.

it was you that was falling asleep whilst he was hip deep in you and mumbling a quiet “keep going, si” because he could go all night.

but there were just some things that’d never change.

when he was laid back on the couch, you were straddling his lap and your chest pressed to his as his tongue drove straight into your mouth.

your hands were running through his cropped hair as your hips rolled firmly against his with a pathetic little whine. simon’s hands moving from your waist to grip your ass and pull you harder into him.

making out like you were back in school, like an adult might catch you, like this was all you were going to get. he could feel the heat rising all over his body and he hadn’t even got your trousers off.

“so fuckin’ good for me, m’sweet”

you moaned into his mouth as his words got muffled on your tongue. your hands coming to cup his jaw as you felt the strong lines of it under your hand.

hips rolling messily, grinding yourself down on his hard cock that was barely confined in his trackies. you could feel his hands moving up your back, spreading across your shoulders and keeping you close.

you whimpered for him as your hips bucked into him.

“yours, simon- always yours”

there goes the floodgates.

simon tensed rock solid beneath you, his head tipping back against the arm of the couch as his jaw hung open. you could feel his hips spasming beneath you as you watched the look on his face.

fuck, you could watch this all day.

feeling a warmth spreading beneath you, hips still stuttering as your hands dropped to feel his abs clench beneath his hoodie.

“thats it, si- y’look so good”

against all odds, simon let out a desperate moan as his back arched and you felt another shot of warmth beneath you. your eyes felt hazy and your blood was rushing in your ears as you watched him come back down.

as if he hadn’t just cum in his pants like a fucking schoolboy, he lifted you back until you were pressed to the other end of the couch. pushing between your thighs, you could feel his breath through your clothes.

“si, please”

he chuckled, dark and right back in control- however, it wasn’t lost on you how he shuddered when his crotch brushed against the couch cushions.

“don’t think you’ve any idea just what you do t’me”

[emacrow]

Um.. Superman.. what that thing stuck on your cape?

Clark's brain short circuit for a moment as he just got back of flying at great speed in the middle of deep space to thrown one of Lex's giants bombs destroy the city and come back in record time.

He turn a bit to look at his cape to see a tiny humanoid starlight dust covered child with white hair, glowing full green that look like white specks stars were implanted themselves into his big ol eyes, nawing on a handful of stardust with inhumanly sharp itsy bitsy fangs.

A small yet floating crown that look similar to one of Nasa pictures of far out space.

Did he just accidentally abducted an royal alien child/teen?

[nenayaquisieras]

my brain is saying 141 with a reader that sees dead people. like they notice how respectful she is to the dead. when she kills she moves the bodies, sometimes says a small prayer to herself. they see her looking at things that aren’t there. “Did you see that? Never mind.” or she mentions she feels something weird in the air, or something wrong. talks to the team about the sleep paralysis she gets, always leaving out the grayish dark figure that accompanies her on those nights.

She’s never told anyone until she got drunk enough to were she’s literally laughing saying

“oh yea i see dead people.” And the guys obv think she’s joking and egg her on about said dead people she sees. but then she tells them about the entities that follow them, the people they’ve killed, always following them around. some are very angry, she feels their malicious intentions. ends up describing them in grave detail, they way they looked, what they wore, the last words they spoke before her teammates pulled the trigger. Something that only THEY would know.

“oh man, let me tell you about Gilbert my sleep paralysis demon. I swear he’s been visiting me more and more recently.”

[the-pigeon-queen]

looks like someone's having a hard time adapting to being the antichrist

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Ghouls night out

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[s0fter-sin]

thinking about the way ghost doesn't hesitate to start killing shadows when graves betrays them but soap only takes one hostage

you can almost hear the voice in his head telling him it doesn't have to be this way; they can still talk it out

"i'm calling shepherd"

his first instinct when confronted with betrayal is to play it by the books: to go up the chain. that goes against everything we've seen him do. he bucks authority at every chance except for the one time he's confronted with the barrels of his allies' guns

he wants a peaceful resolution; for the first time we've ever seen, he doesn't want violence to be the answer. there has to be another fix, a solution that doesn't end with him killing the same men he's been working with; his friends

nothing's happened yet

it doesn't have to go this way

but ghost has been betrayed before. he knows the way this ends; either with him six feet under or his enemy

he doesn't hesitate

it's only when they knock alejandro out that soap shoots; when they spill the first blood and cross a line they can never come back from

only when ghost orders him to run and he has to cover his retreat

and somewhere along the line, between civilians’ screams and taunting voices, between his shaking breath and ghost steady in his ear, that naivety is stripped away; his trust turned to teeth that he uses to sink into throats of men he'd have given his life for

"be careful who you trust, sergeant; people you know can hurt you the most"

he's learned the price of trust

just like ghost did

but unlike ghost, he has someone to guide him through the aftermath

"good advice, It"

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Cassidy knows how to “help” Michael Afton

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)